I wake to see my tear-stained pillow.
It looks at me with pure menace,
Replicating the hatred I have for myself
For hurting you.
Last night is a blur
Of desperation,
Longing,
Conflict.
Why is it that making you happy makes me
Sad?
Last night we
Spoke about
Nothing.
But it spiralled into everything
Without any effort at all.
I am too dysfunctional to continue.
And this morning you'd written a poem
About how you're too sad to write.
Can I have damaged you that much?
That it has prevented you from
Writing?
Oh how you love to write.
It is writing that unites us.
Have I broken you
So much that the link between us is also
Broken?
My tear-stained pillow smothers me with the memories of last night.
It is over now.
I am over.
I am gone.

Man asks questions
Therefore he thinks that he exists

No other animal asks questions
Therefore they do not exist

Existence is the question
That no one has the answer to .

God gave us the ability to ask questions
Let's not question our ability to answer too .

They try to label me,
Tell me who I'm supposed to be
But I'm not giving in to that.
On a scale from 1 to 10
They try to tell me how I am
But I'm better then that,
I don't need your numbers because

I am perfect as I am
I don't need you to tell me
Who I'm supposed to be.
Hey, why is it we get objectified?
Told we are not perfect as we are
And that we have to change
In order to belong.

Why is it everyone wants to be on top,
Looking like the "perfect" person they see in magazines?
Nobody seems to realise
We're made to be who we are
Not some fake idea
And unrealistic dream where nobody feels good enough.

We are perfect as we are
We can be whoever we choose to be
There's no reason that
We should change at all.
We are not somebody you can alter
Or try and squeeze into that box
We all belong as who we are!

I don't want to sit around waiting for a knight in shining armour
I want to be my own hero
And not let people change that.
Why cant I be who I'm meant to be
Is that so wrong?
Will it ever be seen as perfect
To be who we are?

They try to stick me in that box,
Label me and make me feel small
But I can't give them that power.
On a scale from 1 to 10
I am perfect as I am
I don't need someone telling me who I'm supposed to be,
Because no matter what anyone says we are all perfect as we are.